Stavanger Bay fury and reason

just slap him a bit. it ought to do the trick. <3

The dusty-legged stranger’s words sounded muffled and foreign to the brute. It was entirely possible that, if he were more lucid, he would have behaved in a very different manner. Kierkegaard was not a creature of hospitality, and had never truly shared a moment of kindness with another wolf. The stranger in the shallows was something of a marvel.
 
The tugging against the scruff of his neck did little to rouse him, but did procure a gentle grunt from the ragged ghost. His eyes fluttered for a fraction of a moment and he jerked a limb involuntarily. Whether or not the wolf from Moonspear was aware, he was helping to save the life of the great ashen brute. Should he get him to land and rouse him from his tired starvation, Kierkegaard would have owed him a great deal.
 
Rapid breathing followed the jerk of his leg and a quiet, almost pitiful whine from the back of his throat. This was painful; this starvation was killing him.